Cupid's Mark: Hit or Miss
by starrieidgirl
Summary: It's the day after Valentine's Day and Mustang's subordinates have a plan to keep the flame going.


**CUPID'S MARK: Hit or Miss.**

Headquarters was closed for the morning. The snow fall had made it impossible for a number of the military brass to come into town. So any news about Mustang and Hawkeye had to wait, but once the snow melted…

"NOTHING HAPPENED!"

"You heard me gentlemen and not a word to anyone outside of this group. This discussion never took place. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am!" chimed Mustang's subordinates in unison. They were huddled around a mousy- haired, squared-glasses woman, out on a large lawn, disseminating the report of the previous night's event. As the last of the details were given, the woman turned her face to the ground.

"Poor Sergeant Fuery…"

"Hey, no sympathy for losers, Miss Scieska." drawled one Lieutenant Havoc.

"Lieutenant, with all due respect," stammered the woman named Scieska, "I find it terrible to make a human being, albeit a person of small stature, to be crammed into the boot of an auto, in order to spy on his commanding officers, only then to trek back to headquarters on foot, in two feet of snow. So you will have to forgive me Lieutenant if I am sympathetic towards the Master Sergeant."

The air around them dropped several degrees as Scieska's eyes turned dark and bore deeply into Havoc's nonchalant baby blues.

"It's what the squirt deserves for taking up the Colonel's challenge." He said as he blew out the smoke from a large drag. "He knew what he was getting himself into. And it's worked out to our advantage"

"Deserves! It was _despicable _of the Colonel to challenge him to a drinking contest," seethed Scieska, who was quivering with anger.

"She's got a point Havoc, it was pretty low of the Colonel," gently put by the barrel-chested -Lieutenant Breda, "but I have to say…it was the easiest bet I've won here."

"Lieutenant," Warrant Officer Falman's monotonous tone cut Breda's laughter short, "you should be ashamed of yourself. It was _you_ that talked Master Sergeant Fuery into the challenge."

"Yeah, I should be," Breda said sheepishly as he kicked a clump of snow, "-but I haven't eaten this good in a long time!"

No longer able to stand the cold and the callousness of the three officers, Scieska stomped off cursing and headed up the Headquarters' steps. Falman bade Scieska farewell, but the response he received sounded a bit like "athol." He thought it best to avoid her for the rest of the day and allowed Havoc and Breda to hoot and howl at her shrinking image.

Looking down at his watch, Falman cleared his throat, killing Havoc's and Breda's taunts. "Gentlemen, we should take Miss Scieska's lead and head inside. I suspect the Colonel and Lieutenant Hawkeye will arrive within the next hour and I'm sure we can all imagine what would happen if we're seen slacking off."

"You never say that to He-Who-Naps-A lot." blurted Havoc.

"It's because Falman's afraid of getting his eyebrows singed off." Breda said jokingly. Falman gave him a blank glance.

"You're not worried, are ya' Falman?" said Havoc coolly. Falman turned on his heel and walked away. Havoc shouted at him, "Is it because Phase Two is still in the infirmary?

"Partially that and the fact that I like living a little too much to incur the Colonel's wrath." Falman shouted back.

"What's the matter? You're not afraid of Hawkeye?" said Breda as he jogged up to Falman.

"I'd gladly take a bullet from the Lieutenant. For it's the difference between a close casket funeral or being in an urn. I'll take the former any day." said Falman sardonically.

At the back of Headquarters' North wing, is the short-stay infirmary, a large room currently hosting cadets and officers, moaning from the aches and pains received from an overly aggressive snowball fight. Scieska struggled with the desire to give the young men a thorough tongue lashing, instead, she focused her attention on helping dress an exhausted Master Sergeant Fuery.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Oh, just a little Miss Scieska. I should have planned a faster way for me to get back last night." he chuckled.

"You really are going to go through with this, aren't you?" Scieska sighed as she turned to the foot of the cot and began to fold Fuery's uniform.

"Of course, a bet is a bet, and I'm sure Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye will see the humor in all of it!" Fuery said as he adjusted the strap and picked up the bow. "Well Miss Scieska, whad' ya think?"

For a second, Scieska was too afraid to say what she was really thinking. She just didn't have the heart to wipe the beaming smile off of his face. The only thing she could do was lie. "Picture perfect."

Falman, Havoc and Breda were settling in at their desks, when wolf whistles and hollers started echoing in the hallway.

"The 'love-god' approacheth," whispered Havoc to Breda, causing a burst of hearty guffaws at Fuery's entrance into the office.

"Well sirs!" squealed Fuery. "Do I fit the part!?"

"Amazing-"

"Perfect, Fuery-"

"They'll love it."

Scieska scooted out of the doorway and placed Fuery's neatly folded uniform on his desk. She took in the scene with grave suspicions. _It's been wonderful knowing you Kain. I hope the Colonel doesn't burn your face too badly. Oh, your poor mother…_ Her thought trailed off for she found her self staring up at Falman.

"I recommend that you find a safe place for yourself. The Colonel and Lieutenant will be arriving anytime now."

"Thank you Officer Falman." she said curtly, "Good luck Sergeant Fuery. Good day gentlemen." The four men listened as Scieska's heels clicked away, quickly followed by the chimes for 1300 hours.

"Hey Fuery," Breda plastered on his best poker face, "it'd really top off the Colonel's valentine, if you popped outta the supply cupboard."

"Yeah! That's a great idea, Lieutenant Breda! Thank you!" Fuery scampered to the other side of the room and jumped into the cupboard. Havoc closed it for him, leaving a small crack.

While the officers waited for the "big moment," they busied themselves with straightening, cleaning, and starting on the next day's paperwork. Actually, it was more like clearing away anything that they did not want to catch fire or be covered in blood. Falman was proofreading his will and Havoc called a few girlfriends to cancel their dates for the week.

The minutes ticked closer to 1400 hours when a familiar sneering voice could be heard.

"Plato was a brilliant philosopher but if he was living today, he'd find a relationship between an older man and a younger man too be-"

"I'm sorry sir, but I believe we must now attend to _other_ matters." Hawkeye's blunt voice carried through the door. Breda, Havoc, and Falman scurried to their desks, when the door opened, they jumped up to attention.

"At ease." sighed Mustang, as he walked past the saluting officers. Hawkeye immediately headed to the supply cupboard, Havoc caught sight of it and nudged Breda, who then coughed and got Falman's attention. Hawkeye was reaching for the handle when Mustang spoke.

"Is there something of great interest in the way Lieutenant Hawkeye puts her purse away?"

A flurry of "No sir" and "No, nothing" rained forth from each man, as he did whatever he could to look innocent.

"What's in the supply cupboard, Falman." ordered Mustang.

"Eighteen fountain pens; standard black, eighty-six sheets of paper; white, forty-seven sheets of paper; ecru, and-"

"Thank for the inventory update, but what I mean is," Mustang's voice was low and his eyes narrowed to a deathly glare as he strolled over to the cupboard. Falman looked over at his comrades for help, Havoc was looking up at the ceiling and Breda shrugged his shoulders. So he decided to stall Mustang.

"Sir, there is nothing in there-" Mustang threw up his hand, silencing Falman's vain attempt.

Putting his back to the side of the cupboard, Mustang slipped his right hand into his pant's pocket and pulled out an ignition glove. The air in the office became thick and Hawkeye kept throwing frivolous glances at the three stalk-still officers, for they could all hear something moving in the cupboard. She then watched Mustang reach for the cupboard door, all the while thinking, _What did these idiots do to Fuery this time?_ Mustang's hand was no more than a few inches away from the handle when the door sprung back towards him and a dark haired, loin cloth wearing man stood in front of him.

"I am **Cupid**, the god of Love,

descended on Earth,

to be an envoy for my lady,

the goddess Aphrodite.

O, young lovers,

here I spread my gift,

with swiftness of bow,

and straightness of arrow."

Complete and utter silence met Fuery's ears, his eyes fell on faces stuck in unfocused stares. _Mission accomplished_, he thought joyfully, but the ensuing silence was broken by a slight hiccup coming from Mustang. Fuery looked over his should to see his commander in an awkward pose. The right arm stretched out to flame the scrawny sergeant, but Mustang's left hand was cupped over his mouth to muffle the percolating sound. When Mustang could no longer hold them in, he belted out a large, bark-like laugh that traveled out of the office and into the hallway. Fuery then turned back to face the rest of the other officers, to find Hawkeye with her back turned, head hung low, either out of pity for him or shame for laughing at him. Breda, physically on the floor pounding his fists, Havoc, out in the hall trying to catch his breath, and Falman, standing still with a huge stupid grin on his face.

Like a bolt of lightening, Fuery caught on, he had been lured into a malicious trap that involved wings, a loin-cloth, and a quiver full of arrows. "I think I'd like to be dead now." Fuery muttered to himself, which did nothing to quell the hysterical laughter surrounding him. Instead, this got his goat even more.

"Ah, c'mon you guys! This was suppose to get the Colonel and Lieutenant Hawkeye together!"

"Is that what they told you, Sergeant?" Mustang cooed. "If you continue to take those three seriously, we'll have to demote you."

"But, Colonel, I can't be demoted any further!" shouted Fuery, but he was caught off-guard by a hand on his shoulder.

"Sergeant Fuery," giggled Hawkeye, "Please go and change into your uniform. We need to get to work." He looked into her eyes and saw they were slightly teary and full of compassion for the enraged Master Sergeant.

"Yes, sir," Fuery said dejectedly, as he passed the three snickering conspirators. He whispered, "I hate you guys." Then picked up his uniform and stormed out of the office, arrows clunking against each other with each stomp. Once all thought Fuery was out of ear shot, the laughter started up again, then slowly quieted down once Mustang took his place at his desk. He then cleared his throat and called out,

"Officer Falman, Lieutenants Breda and Havoc, please come forward." They stood before Mustang's desk, all of them slightly squirmy, but all Mustang did was rest his chin on the back of his hands. The sound of Hawkeye filing papers could be heard, before Mustang spoke.

"Congratulations on building an igloo. I take it that you did all of the proper research for it. Correct, Lieutenant Breda?

"Yes, Colonel."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Mustang waved him away and Breda sat back down at his desk.

"Officer Falman, the selection of reading material was based off of Lieutenant Hawkeye's preferences, yes."

"Yes Colonel. The Lieutenant had been discussing with another female about a current production of _Lysistrata_ at the Odeon Theatre. From the intelligence gathered from the conversation, Lieutenant Hawkeye has an interest in plays and literature stemming from the Classical and Neo-Classical periods." rattled off Falman.

"Thank you, Falman. Lieutenant Havoc, what was your contribution to the 'mission'?"

"Sir, Fuery didn't know what wine Lieutenant Hawkeye drinks."

"Is that all." Havoc knew Mustang too well and figured what he was getting at.

"I convinced Sergeant Squirt to hide in the boot of the sedan and report back to us should any 'inappropriate conduct' happen."

"Lieutenant Havoc, once again I'm _astounded_ by your generosity to this company and the desire to assist lower ranking officers to do your dirty work."

"Thank you Colonel."

"Now that we have had our fun, the real work can begin." Mustang's words resonated with a prowess which one could compare to that of a wolf, preparing to lead his pack into the hunt. The officers picked up their notes, maps of neighboring countries, and those week's communication logs and began to decipher a code Fullmetal discovered at Xerxes.

When the clocks chimed 1900 hours, Mustang and Hawkeye were the last ones in the office. Fuery had been silent since changing his uniform and left at ten till. Havoc, Breda, and Falman left at five till to catch the last of Happy Hour down at the corner pub. Hawkeye finished storing the maps and Mustang watched her, as usual. From across the room, he sat admiring her posture, full of purpose and poise. _I can do more than this can't I?_ Mustang contemplated, _Or all that I can do is watch from afar and hope nothing bad happens._ "Dammit." he muttered.

"Sir?" Hawkeye turned and faced him, _Not another paper cut I hope. He's such a big baby._ "Is there something the matter, sir?

"No, no lieutenant. I was just thinking out loud." He glanced up to look at her, but instead he saw past her and noticed the time. "Lieutenant, is that clock fast or slow?"

"Neither sir. It's right on time."

"Hm." Mustang sat forward, resting his chin in his usual manner. "I had hoped to have heard from her by now…oh well." Mustang then rose from his desk and headed towards the door.

"Lieutenant."

"Sir." Hawkeye was standing in front of the supply cupboard.

"What are your plans for this evening."

"Sir?" Hawkeye was rarely asked such a personal questions, like the night before, this must be an exception.

"What do you plan on doing after work tonight? After you have dropped me off at the apartment."

"Well," Hawkeye spluttered, "I intend to bathe Black Hayate, have a cup of tea, finish reading my copy of _The Man of La Mancha_, thumb through a couple of reports, then go to bed. Is that sufficient for you sir?"

Mustang looked at her with bewildered eyes, _Does she do this every night?_ he thought._ 'Cup of tea?' 'Bathe' that damn mutt! Read a play! Hmm, it would be a complete waste…_

"Hawkeye, you are to join me this evening for a show at the Odeon. Is that understood." Mustang's voice was not cruel or kind, but direct, so much so that Hawkeye returned his bewildered eyes back.

"Mustang! Are you ordering me on a date?"

"I wouldn't necessarily call it a 'date,." he brushed off. "More of a continuation of last night's gift."

Hawkeye was rooted to the spot, she had a hard time believing she could be filling in for some 'date' who had bailed on the Colonel.

"We're wasting time, Hawkeye. The show starts at 2000 hours, and I think you should change into something more 'suitable' for the role of my escort."

_Escort!_ He'd done it. Hawkeye had battled for a good hour before they had reached the igloo last night, about not being one of his floozies, to now find herself being called his 'escort.' She distracted herself by digging through her purse to find the keys for Mustang's sedan.

"Sir, I must…I'm sorry…I – I…" she was tripping over her words and was not having any luck in finding the keys. Thinking they were in her winter coat, she turned back to the supply cupboard. "I think it best sir, that you go on to the show without a date, or rather-" A **round **gift box fell out of her purse and onto the floor. Mustang walked over and scooped it up, he reached around her middle to hand it back.

"You haven't opened it yet."

"No, sir. I forgot."

"Now's the perfect time. Please Riza. For me." His voice and eyes had gone soft, "It's not an order, but if you don't…it will be."

Hesitatingly, Hawkeye took the gift, her head whirling with the shock of being addressed so intimately and the subtle scent of Mustang's spicy sweet cologne.

"Thank you si-"

"Ah!" Mustang wagged a finger.

"Thank you, Roy," she whispered. He stepped back, reached into the cupboard, and retrieved Hawkeye's coat. Watching from the corner of his eyes, he saw Hawkeye's stiff posture curve as though she was cradling a small infant. The lid thudded lightly onto the floor, it landed beside a dark red ribbon. Soon, small sniffles chirped from Hawkeye's direction, Mustang turned to find her kneeling on the floor, silent tears running down her face.

"Are you alright, Hawkeye?"

"Ye-ye-yes, sir." Mustang knelt down beside her. "I-I-I've been pla-plan-planning on starting a new one this spring." The contents of the box held small brown packets, individually labeled and filled, with lavender, thyme, chamomile, basil, and rosemary seeds. She reached over and picked up the lid, closing it over the box. Mustang offered his arm and Hawkeye accepted. "It's getting onto 1930, sir. We should be leaving. Are you ready."

"Are you."

"Always." Hawkeye was no longer crying but laughing, ever so quietly. Mustang helped her with her coat and opened the door.

"Ladies first," he smirked.

"Why thank you, Colonel," she replied coyly. There was no one in the halls, but this was all the playful banter that would be exchanged between the two for a very long time.

Although…

Rumor is, a certain "love-god", and his be speckled counterpart, caught the rare exchange between the two, generally, cool headed officers. The rumor goes so far to say that the amber-eyed First Lieutenant was on the Colonel's arm at a performance of _Lysistrata_, dressed in a fiery red dress, and underneath the brightly lit marquee, this rumored couple exchanged a kiss. One observer, who asked, through a haze of cigarette smoke, to remain anonymous, saw how the Colonel had taken his charmingly dressed companion, dipped her, then taking advantage of her unawares, kissed her on the lips.

But those night's events are all hearsay and more likely wishful thinking, for the story Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye tell, is that they went home to their respective apartments and watched the snow fall. Thinking of the day when they will accomplish their goals, be free to say how they feel, and discuss Plato by the fireside.


End file.
